


The Beast Within

by atetheredmind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon rides the dragon, Pregnancy sex, and by that i mean Rhaegal and Dany, and some fluff, boatbaby is there too technically, just raunchy post-parentage reveal sex tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-24 19:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18169256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind
Summary: After Bran and Sam tell Jon the truth of his identity, Daenerys helps pull him from the depths of his despair by showing him exactly what it means to be a Targaryen.





	The Beast Within

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the s8 trailer. You ever think about how much of an adrenaline rush it must be to ride a dragon for the first time? I do. I imagine that's going to be a wild ride for Jon. Lucky Dany...
> 
> Thank you to aliciutza for the moodboard! <3

* * *

Jon doesn’t wait till the door is shut behind them before he slams her against it. Her wide eyes are wild—but not with fear or apprehension. She knows—she feels it, too. It’s what she wanted him to feel, after all. What she wanted him to know. What she already knew, long before he had a damn clue.

He seizes her mouth with his, teeth sharp and jagged on her lips.

Daenerys reaches for him, but he grabs her arms and pins them by her head with a faint growl. There’s a tremor in his hands, one that took hold of him the moment he climbed onto the back of a _bloody dragon_ and took to the skies alongside her.

His queen. His kin. The woman he loves.

He kisses her hard, wet and sloppy as he thrusts his tongue into her mouth. She doesn’t push him away or fight him. Instead, she sucks on his tongue and bites at his lips. A beast as famished as he, as savage as the very beasts they rode.

She bites a little too hard, drawing blood. He can taste it, faint and tangy, and he hisses. She tries to soothe it with her tongue, but he pulls back.

Not away, though. Never away from her, never again. They’re bonded now, till the end of their days. Maybe not by law or vow, not yet, but by blood. And that’s something more.

To him, it’s everything.

He works fast to shed her of her clothes. Yanking and tugging, apathetic to the sounds of tearing as he strips her free of one too many layers of leather and fur. He can’t think of anything else but getting her naked, can’t summon a lick of propriety or decency, not now. Blood rushes in his ears, through his veins, as his heart pounds against his rib cage.

(It hasn’t _stopped_ pounding since he took flight, soaring high above the ground and skimming the heavens above. The people and horses below looked no bigger than ants then, and for that fleeting moment, all his problems seemed just as small.)

Jon jerks her white fur coat down her arms, trapping them behind her as he turns his attention to her leather vest underneath. He moves quickly, loosening the closures, but there are too many, so he takes the vest in both hands and rips it down the front, hooks scattering across the stone floor. She chokes on a sound of astonishment, her breasts now bared to him, and she struggles the rest of the way out of her coat and vest, arching into him when he buries his face against her bosom.

He breathes her deeply, soap and spice, and she gasps when he mouths at her breasts, teeth bared and digging into her soft, plump flesh. She tastes of winter, of blustery winds and northern snows. It clings to her skin, her nipple icy when he sucks it into his mouth, pulling the already taut bud between his teeth until he’s coaxed her blood into the ruddy tip. She keens for him, slipping in and out of foreign tongues as she is wont to do when in the grip of passion. “ _Kessa,_ please. _Yes._ ”

With a growl, he marks her breasts, her neck, branding her with wolf bites as he works his hands beneath the tight, clingy material of her riding leathers. Gripping the waist in hand, he pushes the trousers and smallclothes down her hips to grab two handfuls of her round, plump arse. Daenerys slithers against the door to help him, even with his mouth on her throat pinning her to the door.

 _(“You’re a dragon and a wolf,”_ she told him after that terrible revelation, in the midst of all the ruin and devastation. He tried to refute her, but she wouldn’t hear it. _“You don’t have to choose."_ He doesn’t know how she does it, how she unassumingly recites his own words to him, right when he needs to hear them most.)

Her pants tangle around her boots, and they both reach down to yank them off. Kicking them aside, Daenerys nearly loses her balance, but he braces his shoulder against her belly and hoists her into the air.

“Jon!” she squeals, gripping onto his cloak as he swings her around toward the bed. Because as naked as she is, he’s still fully dressed.

He tosses her down on his bed, her lovely tits jiggling as she settles on the furs. Dumbstruck, she watches as he pulls off his cloak and tugs frantically at the ties on his jerkin till the collar is loose enough he can pull the offending leather over his head. At the sight of his scarred, bare chest, Daenerys scrambles onto her knees to help with his trousers, and he accepts her with brutal swipes of his tongue into her mouth. She wriggles a hand through the opening of his pants to fist his cock, and he grunts against her lips while she strokes him, grabbing handfuls of her breasts to pinch and pull at her nipples.

She always enjoyed it before, walking the thin edge between pleasure and pain with him, but now she shies away; red-faced, she releases him and pushes at his hands to stop him. Undeterred, Jon lowers his mouth to lave the ravaged nipples with his tongue, coating them in his spittle. She tries to wrap her arms around his shoulders, but he hooks his arms under her thighs and flips her onto her back again. Knees in hands, he pushes them apart, up toward her breasts, then he drags his hand down the inside of her thigh where he cups her naked cunt in his hand.

Daenerys gasps, reflexively closing her legs, but he forces them open with a steady nudge on her knee. She’s hot against his palm, her nether lips slippery and plump, flushed sanguine with her arousal. He aligns his hand with her slit to sink two thick fingers inside her. Her cunt resists him even as it welcomes the invasion, tightening as he plunges his fingers knuckle-deep.

She moans his name, bearing down around his fingers as she rides his hand. Jon lifts her leg to rest her calf on his shoulder, leaning over her to fuck her with faster thrusts of his fingers into her tight channel. He presses his thumb to her clitoris, and she writhes against him to get herself off. He’s breathing hard, watching her face twist in pleasure, a light sheen of sweat slicking her skin now, though no fire rages in the hearth to warm the chilly room.

He can’t wait anymore; he withdraws his fingers to push his trousers down over his arse. Cock in hand, he notches the tip at her cunt, then pushes into her with a violent snap of his hips. His pelvis smacks against her arse, the sound reverberating off the stone walls. She cries out in surprise, but he doesn’t give her time to adjust.

Hunching over her, her leg pushed up to her chest, he fucks her hard and fast, taking her more roughly than he ever has before. Her cries ring through their chambers along with the savage sounds of their coupling and his ragged, shuddering breaths. Her nails dig into his skin, cutting furrows down his back to his flexing arse cheeks. He groans and pushes into her wet cunt harder.

(It’s not enough, not nearly enough to glut the beast she aroused the moment she took his hand and led him from the dark tomb of the crypts, opening his eyes to the truth of who and what he is. He needs more. He wants to gorge on her, to slake his thirst and sate his hunger.)

Abruptly pulling out of her, Jon flips her onto her belly. When he grabs her hips, she sits up with him. Her back against his chest, he grabs at her breast, his other hand pressing against her pelvis to hold her to him. Yet when he tries to push her onto her hands and knees, to push into her again, she locks up.

“ _Daor!_ Wait, wait!” she cries, breathless, and Jon seizes, the fear in her voice penetrating the haze of brute lust. Her fingers lock around his hand at her cunt, and he holds absolutely still, his hard breaths fluttering the soft wisps of hair at her neck.

She seems to be struggling, fighting him, fighting something, a tension in her body he doesn’t understand. Bewildered, he doesn’t know how to proceed, her fingers gripping his so tightly he’s unsure if she means for him to unhand her or not.

Gradually, her muscles uncoil, limbs going lax as she releases a slow and steady breath. Hand still holding his, she presses his fingers into her cunt, through the nest of silver curls to the wet lips and tender bud of her clitoris, and she bends over to lean on her forearms. Slowly, Jon follows her, bringing his knee up on the bed. He surrounds her, stroking her arse, her back, her thighs and plays with her clitoris, rubbing it until she’s rocking with him and keening softly. He kisses her shoulder, her neck, then he takes his cock in hand and pushes into her plush cunt from behind, groaning as she pulls him into her wet heat.

She grabs at the furs of his bed, head dropping between her shoulders. “Jon,” she gasps, her cunt rippling around him once he’s buried inside her.

Only then does he surge into her, holding her hips as he fucks her, impaling her on his cock with deep, hard thrusts. Daenerys cries out each time his cock kisses her womb, and he pushes on her lower back, fingers splayed along her spine until her arse is at such an angle that he’s stroking her from the inside in a way that makes her toes curl. Then she’s coming around him, a pulsing wet slickness on his cock that makes it nearly impossible for him to find his own release.

But he does, even while she’s muffling her scream into the bed, her cunt wringing him so tight black spots pepper his vision. With a savage war cry, he pounds into her until he’s emptying his seed inside her.

(For a moment, he feels as if he’s flying again, as if he could reach out and touch the heavens above.)

When he pulls out of her, his cock is still hard, and he watches his seed trickle from her cunt, the sight stirring something primal in him, something shameful. Even so, he rubs his fingers through the mess and her glossy nectar before he pushes his seed back into her cunt, curling his fingers inside her. She moans quietly as she contracts around him with another spasm. When he withdraws his fingers, they’re shiny and tacky with her cunthoney.

Arms shaking, Daenerys pushes up on her hands and crawls forward to lay prostrate on her belly. The beast inside him sated, Jon toes off his boots and pulls down his trousers, stepping out of them as he climbs onto the bed with her. He lies down beside her, settling on his side, and he strokes her loose hair away from her face until she emerges from the furs to look at him. Her face is pink, lips bruised red from his vicious, unforgiving kisses.

Guilt hooks at his belly, and he moves closer so he’s nearly wrapped around her. He presses his forehead to hers, their breaths hot between them. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he rasps.

She lets out a shaky laugh. “No. Of course, you didn’t.”

“You tried to stop me. Didn’t you?” he asks, confused. _Daor_. No. He knows that much Valyrian, at least.

Her throat constricts, and she closes her eyes, shaking her head against his. “I thought...I didn’t think I would like it. But I trusted you. I trust you, Jon. I know you would never hurt me.”

He swallows hard, the sincerity of her declaration, the weight of her belief in him shaking him to his core.

(She does this every time, stripping him bare with her words. Giving him everything, her love, her body. All that is precious to her, even her children.)

“Never,” he swears, cupping her face. “What you did for me just now. And before.” Suddenly, he’s overcome, words failing him. Not for the first time, he wishes he were a wordsmith, a poet, a bard who could compose her a thousand songs. She deserves that, and so much more. “I would do anything for you, Dany, give you anything. _Anything_. Just ask it, and I swear it.”

Her lips part, and she inhales deeply. When she exhales, she gives him a tremulous smile, lifting his hand from her face. It takes him a moment to understand when she presses it to her belly.

“You’ve already given me everything I could want.”

**Author's Note:**

> That's not really how I think the pregnancy reveal will go down, but I just went for it here. Of course there will be more angst in canon!


End file.
